Riley Morgan always believed he was destined for greatness. As a child, Riley would stand on a makeshift podium in the backyard, delivering impassioned speeches to an audience of stuffed animals and the suburban fox population. Becoming the prime minister wasn't just a dream; it was a calling. However, in this world, childhood dreams are temporary pursuits that must be attempted and set aside before one can transition to a stable career.

Now in his late twenties, Riley had outlasted most of his peers in this pursuit. Many had already let go of their childhood fantasies—astronauts, rock stars, superheroes—and had settled into practical, stable jobs. But Riley couldn't let go of the dream. His passion for politics had grown with time, from not so loved school prefect to university debates and to a brief but disastrous stint in local government. Every step, despite its failures, felt like a confirmation of his glorious destiny.

Riley's persistence had turned heads. He was the longest-serving "dreamer" in recent history, in his mind causing a stir both in the media and among the public. In reality he got more eye rolls.

Some admired his dedication, while others saw it as a refusal to accept reality. The government, bound by the societal rule that no one could start a stable career without attempting their childhood dream, begrudgingly allowed Riley's continued pursuit but with growing impatience.

In a shocking twist of fate, Riley's relentless campaigning and uncanny ability to appeal to a certain demographic's nostalgia catapulted him to the position of prime minister. However, Riley was woefully unprepared for the actual responsibilities of the role. Britain quickly fell into disarray under his leadership. Economic crises, diplomatic blunders, and social unrest became the order of the day. Riley's idealistic speeches and grand visions couldn't mask the ineptitude and lack of practical governance skills.

One evening, as Riley faced yet another crisis meeting with his long-suffering cabinet—this time over a disastrously mishandled trade agreement —they received a summons from the Council of Transitions. This council oversaw the delicate balance between dreams and reality, ensuring that the societal rule was respected.

In the council chamber, Riley faced a panel of stern-faced members. The head of the council, an elderly woman with kind but firm eyes, spoke first.

"Riley Morgan, you have shown remarkable dedication to your childhood dream. However, it is clear that your continued tenure as prime minister is causing significant harm. Society needs you to transition."

Riley's heart pounded. "With all due respect, I believe I can turn this around. I've come so far, and I'm not ready to give up on this dream. All I need is a week, an MI5 hacker and a lot of biscuits, oh and one of those flicky bic pens, the nice ones not the cheap ones."

The council members exchanged glances. The head of the council sighed. "We are not here to take away your aspirations, Riley. But your insistence on this path has brought our nation to the brink. Your dream has become a dangerous delusion."

"But what if my stable career is in politics?" Riley pleaded. "What if this isn't just a dream, but my true calling?"

Rileys cries echoed through the passageways of offices now emptying to watch the small dictator be forcefully evicted from the premises. Riley picked himself up and as he walked away heard the faint sound of champagne corks popping.